This is a purple foxglove flower from my mother's garden this past summer. She would hunker down in her garden and churn the dirt with her hands. The old fashioned memory reminded me of Laura Ingalls Wilder from "The Little House On the Prairie." When we were kids, Mom would read to us a few chapters every night before bed. It was nurturing, and a feeling of comfort as we sat on the couch in front of the fireplace.
There's a unique purity when I remember Mom's magical land. She called the gardens her "Van Gogh paintings" because she could play and paint with live color - in the form of flowers dancing in the wind.
It's beautiful to be alive. Much love and Namaste to all.
